


It Can't Rain All the Time

by leonidaslion



Category: Supernatural, The Crow (1994)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death isn't always the end...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Can't Rain All the Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janglyjewels](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=janglyjewels).



“What are you?” Dean growled.

The freak with the painted face that he'd initially thought was an overzealous Kiss fan _(at least until he’d unloaded a clip into his chest at point blank range and gotten laughed at for his trouble)_ regarded him evenly across the alley. Blind windows from the abandoned buildings on either side stared down on them, unseeing. Dean had chased this asshole all over town tonight: from the hockey arena’s parking lot, to the back hallways of the MGM Grand, to this street of abandoned, burned-out shells.

“Justice,” the freak answered.

Dean was all set to fire off a snappy comeback when something sped past his head. Swearing, he registered the brush of wings against his cheek in time to watch a massive crow land on the freak’s shoulder.

The bird mantled its wings and let out a raucous caw. It fixed Dean with its eyes, as black and empty as the freak’s, and he felt a tremor pass through him. The freak’s lips twitched as if he’d felt Dean’s unease. Dean thought that he might be wearing a real smile now, instead of one that had been caked on with grease paint.

Steeling himself, he adjusted his grip on the gun—useless, yeah, but he couldn’t bring himself to put it away—and ground out, “Justice, huh? And here I was thinking that you were just some psycho killer.”

“That too,” the freak agreed, sounding entirely too amused. He stepped closer and Dean had to bite his lip to keep from backing away. Probably wouldn’t do any good to run anyway.

“But those men deserved to die,” the freak continued, his voice dropping into something darker. Something that carried a trace of wings.

He was standing right in front of Dean now, and Dean should have felt the man’s body warmth radiating against his front. He should have seen breath fogging the chilled night air.

“You’re a fucking revenant,” he breathed as the realization hit him, and this time he did back up ... right into the brick wall that the freak—the _revenant_ —had maneuvered him against. Fuck.

The revenant mimicked the sound of a buzzer and then brightly added, “Nice try. Please call again.” A sudden rush of air and it was pressing Dean up against the bricks. It was sober beneath the manic grin painted across its face.

“This city needs me,” it said. “And I need you to stay out of my way.” Its hands, gentle and chilled, came up and cradled Dean’s head.

“Get the hell off me!” Dean snarled, pulling at those dead fingers.

“Don’t worry, it’ll only hurt for a moment.”

The revenant’s fingers pressed harder and then, with a shock like ice water, Dean was hurled into a seething pit of pain.

He was in a loft somewhere. There was an oversized round window in one of the walls and a girl in his arms: sweet face, long brown hair. Shelley. He was laughing with her, holding her close and laying kisses on the side of her neck. Putting out a fire she’d started on the stove. Fucking her.

Shelley.

Love.

Then the scene changed. He was still in the loft with Shelley, but they weren’t alone. There were men—four of them. Four men smashing down the door and storming in and oh God, _Shelley_ …

No, damn it. That wasn’t him. Wasn’t his life.

Dean grappled for control of his own mind and felt some precarious balance shift. The loft—Shelley’s defilement—vanished in a flicker of light.

 _Reflections of flames on Dad’s face as he shoves Sam into his arms._

 **Flicker**

 _The strain in his boyish muscles as he tries to wrestle the black dog to the ground so that Dad can drive a knife through its heart._

 **Flicker**

 _Sam sick with chicken pox and Dad nowhere to be found._

 **Flicker**

 _Sam leaving for California, his jaw bruised from that final fight._

Dean fought harder to free himself and that alien force resisted. Latched onto his mind and dug deeper.

 _He’s alone. Hunting with no one at his back so that he doesn’t see the fire poker coming: only feels it sink deep into the meat of his left shoulder._

 **Flicker**

 _Sam has his back again and hates it—hates Dean for dragging him back into this life. Sam, who is unable to sleep through the night without waking with a dead girl’s name on his lips. Dean can’t help, can’t take the pain away, can’t not be part of the problem._

 **Flicker**

 _He finds himself with his back to a wall and thinks for one wild moment that he’s pulled free. Then hot blades of power rip through his chest, bleeding him, and he realizes that this is a different wall: a different time. Dad’s leering face dances in his vision. No, it’s not Dad. Not him it’s not him_

 **Flicker**

 _Sam’s shouts bring Dean as fast as he can drag himself and it’s only fast enough to see Dad dead on the floor, to see Sam clinging to Dad’s shirt while he screams for someone to help. Dad. Oh God, Dad, what the fuck did you_ do _?_

The alien force pressed harder, rushing through Dean’s memories of the bleak days after. Rushing through his awkward attempts to reconnect with his brother while he struggled to protect him from their father’s final command. Then, like it was deliberately searching for the most painful, fucked up shit in Dean’s head, it slowed him in the memory of his brother’s fingers digging into his shoulder: of those slender, strong digits burrowing their way along a bullet’s bloody path.

Pain seeped in around the edges of Dean’s consciousness. He knew where this was going—where he was being dragged—and he wouldn’t go back there. He _couldn’t_. Desperate now, he scrambled to break away even as the next flash spat him out into hell.

 _Sam staggers toward him down a muddy street in an abandoned town. There’s a shadow rising behind his brother—a shadow that solidifies into a man wearing army fatigues—and Dean yells. He’s too late, of course. He’s always too late and too slow and now Sam is falling. Sam is falling into his arms, Sam is bleeding his life away and he doesn’t even know that Dean is here, can’t fucking hear him …_

 **Flicker**

 _Dean stands at the crossroads, signing himself away. The demon’s tongue is hot in his mouth, a violation, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters as long as Sam Is Safe, as long as_

The connection snapped and Dean found himself back in the alley. The revenant released him and stumbled back, its hands going to its head and its face contorting in pain. The crow squawked and flapped from its perch on the revenant’s shoulder to disappear into the night.

Dean gave himself a heartbeat to blink away the tears streaming down his face and then lurched forward, grabbing the revenant’s shoulders and tossing it up against the opposite side of the alley. He dropped his gun and had his knife out and pressed to the freaks’ neck before the revenant even realized that it had been grabbed.

“What the fuck was that?” Dean spat.

“You—you and I are on the same side,” the revenant panted. It sounded surprised.

“Like hell we are,” Dean shot back. “Now answer the fucking question.”

The revenant blinked at him with those crow dark eyes and said, “I need to talk to Sam.”

Alarmed anger flared in the pit of Dean‘s stomach. “You stay away from my brother, you son of a bitch,” he snarled. Fuck his answers. He was gonna cut the bastard’s head off and salt and burn the body.

But Dean had forgotten about the bird.

It came at him from the side, giving a loud cry. He swung around to cut the thing out of the air and felt it rush past him, flying lower than he’d thought. When he whirled back toward the side of the building, the revenant was gone.

“Goddamn it!” Dean swore, glaring at the empty alley.

“Dean Winchester!” The call came from above, and when Dean twisted his head back he saw the revenant’s shadow outlined against the sky. How the hell had the son of a bitch managed to get up onto the roof?

When it saw that it had his attention, the revenant held out one fist and then opened it. Dean watched as a large, black feather floated down to land at his feet.

“Come find me in sixteen months!” the revenant shouted. “We’ll talk more then.”

As Dean stared up at it, it offered him a jaunty wave and then disappeared back over the edge of the roof. He considered trying to give chase and then decided that there wasn’t much point in trying to scale three stories. Besides, he was too tired to run anymore.

Dean looked down at the feather, frowning. The revenant’s final words had left a heavy weight in his chest. They’d talk in sixteen months, the thing had said, and Dean believed it.

He just didn’t understand how that was possible when his year was up in only four.


End file.
